


let that new day wash over us

by emptyskies



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst and Feels, M/M, Season/Series 10, bitter fluff, gw2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 12:46:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19062985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emptyskies/pseuds/emptyskies
Summary: GW2019 Day 1 - Season 10 wishes----"We alone here?" Mickey murmures, barely sparing a passing glance to the rest of the house as they entered, eyes squarely on Ian like he might disappear if he looks away just a second too long. Ian warms under his gaze, smiling in spite of himself as he turns and catches sight of Mickey's expression, caught somewhere between disbelief and elation. Rapturous. He knew if he took the time to look in the mirror he'd find himself with something along the same lines; because Mickey was finally, finally back home and he wasn't sure what to make of it.





	let that new day wash over us

**Author's Note:**

> So I know I'm severely late with this but I've been working on it all night so....here you go? My first work for this fandom (that I've posted anyhow) so I hope no one is too out of character. By far not my best work, I don't think I've written anything even halfway decent in years, but I tried. Sidenote if anyone has any ideas as to how to tag this thing let me know, maybe it's it just how tired I am but I can't for the life of me figure it out.
> 
> There was actually meant to be another scene for in the morning, and Lip's there but my computer is dead and I'm running on solely on caffeine. Also I'm editing this note at a later date to say I know I never ended up writing for the rest of Gallavich week (I have the fics, they just aren't finished yet) but I do still plan to write that last scene. Sometime soon, maybe even tonight. Just thought I'd say that in case anyone cares. Anyway I hope whoever ends up reading this mess enjoys it. Constructive criticism is welcome, just don't be a dick about it.
> 
> Title from A New Day's Coming by Frank Iero and The Future Violents. A special thanks to my friend (he knows who he is!) for helping me figure out which one to use as a title!!

"We alone here?" Mickey murmures, barely sparing a passing glance to the rest of the house as they entered, eyes squarely on Ian like he might disappear if he looks away just a second too long. Ian warms under his gaze, smiling in spite of himself as he turns and catches sight of Mickey's expression, caught somewhere between disbelief and elation. Rapturous. He knew if he took the time to look in the mirror he'd find himself with something along the same lines; because Mickey was finally, _finally_ back home and he wasn't sure what to make of it.

"I mean Liam's here, you knew that though, and Carl and Debbie are in and out but- just about, yeah." Ian babbles, irrationally grateful as he latches onto the subject; all too aware of how close he came to soppy.

Mickey sighs with what sounds like great exasperation and hooks him by the beltloops. "I meant right now, Gallagher." Back to Gallagher, that was- okay, okay he could deal.

"Oh." Ian frowns, and blows out a breath. "Yeah, Debbie wanted to come see you back but, uh, I might've suggested we'd be a little- busy."

"That so?" Mickey bites his lip, eyes trailing down the length of Ian's body unabashedly.

Ian smirks, reeling Mickey in close. "What do you think, we busy Mick?"

It's almost like a shock; unexpected in the way Mickey's hands come up to cradle Ian's face but his fingers dig in the slightest bit like he doesn't realise and the feel of Mickey's wind chapped- but still soft, always so soft- lips against his for what feels like the first time in forever, though they'd reconciled not long ago. In the parking lot after Mickey had been released, _shaking hands that Ian took in his own and Mickey didn't complain because it was good to finally touch each other, even platonically and not so platonically- when they made out until they finally had to part, lips bruised and kiss swollen, and Mickey had looked so good sitting there in the passenger seat mouth slack as he tried to catch his breath that Ian couldn't help but kiss him again; this time more like a promise than the last. He'd held him, even when Mickey had began to get uneasy and half-heartedly griping but never attempting to pull away even once, an internal promise to never let Mickey go again._

They break apart, albeit reluctantly, but stay close, foreheads pressing together and Mickey's breath humid against his face and he wouldn't have it any other way. It was- it was good. This is good. It feels like the beginning, somehow.

"Which room you in?" Mickey says, drawing back the slightest bit and Ian mourns the loss; makes it hard to focus on anything else.

"Huh?"

Rolling his eyes, Mickey repeats the question, the corners of his mouth quirking up as he watchs Ian grow steadily more flustered.

Ian flushs instinctively. "Oh, um, still in the old one."

Mickey's hands pause on his shoulders, his brow furrowing. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why didn't you move into one of the other bedrooms when you got out? S'not like they need 'em anymore." He presses, though his hands continue their pursuit down, stopping finally to rest at Ian's hips and fiddle idly with his belt buckle.

Ian quiets for a moment, twitching involuntarily as his mind follows back to those rough first months they'd been apart. In truth, he'd tried that, for all of an hour before the emptiness had become really and truly unbearable and he'd retreated to his old bed. Once upon a time he'd have appreciated having an entire bed to himself, finally able to stretch out without his limbs dangling over the edges or sore muscles from trying to fit himself into too small of a space for him. He'd grown unused to the room; having the solid, reassuring weight of Mickey beside him night after night. At least in his old bed he could suppress the bitter ache in his chest that didn't understand why Mickey wasn't there; pressed against his chest because they couldn't sleep any other way, not anymore.

"Just didn't feel right I guess."

When he looks back up Mickey is watching him again, careful, and his face softening like he might just be beginning to understand. It sends tremors down his spine, for reasons he can't fathom, and he's leaning in again before he has time to think it through. It's vastly different than before; rough, burning the air clean from his lungs and making his head swim as he kisses him through it; and desperate, so desperate like they mean to consume each other whole. Like they had a million times over; wouldn't be the worst way to go. Mickey's hard as he presses up against Ian insistently, hand flying up to squeeze Ian's bicep as they stumble back blindly to the living room, and Ian's no better off. It's a welcome relief, at least. Easy. It's always been easy between them even when nothing else ever was.

 

* * *

 

 

"Ow, fuck!"

"Move your-"

"You're on my-"

"Tell me again why we couldn't just take one of the big fucking beds." Mickey grumbles, words slurring with the effort it takes to speak with his face halfway squished into the pillow under his head; grudgingly pacified as Ian shifts once more and molds himself to Mickey's back. One of the few perks of winter, cuddling without worrying about overheating.

Ian nuzzles the nape of Mickey's neck, smiling as he smooths a hand down Mickey's arm and soft torso to settle just above his hip. "Told you, doesn't feel right yet." It's not a lie, not quite, but it still feels like one. He just wants to take this time to hold Mickey close, like hadn't been able to in so long. To ease the ache in his chest, just a little; Mickey is back he's _here_ but he feels the persistent need for a reminder all the same.

"She's been gone a year. Not like she needs it anymore." He says it offhandly, his tone casual but the way his body tenses under Ian's palm says different. So Mickey had figured him out. He can't really say he's surprised- Mickey had always paid much more attention than he'd ever let on- but he's thankful all the same that Mickey hadn't yet broached the subject; letting him come to terms with it all at his own pace.

"Whatever," Ian grins into Mickey's hair, wrapping his arm around his waist, " maybe I just want to hold you a while."

"You can't do that in a bigger bed?" Mickey mutters incredulously.

Ian snorts. "It's not so bad."

"For you maybe. You're not the one stuck under ten foot of ginger." He gripes, gesturing pointedly to the way Ian had managed to sprawl out in such a small space. Call it a talent of sorts; Ian had always been able to fit himself into places he had no right being in. Not so bad, indeed. It'd gotten him this, after all- even if it was in the most roundabout way possible, but who was counting?

"Shut up, you know you love it."

Silence settled in the air between them, all still but for the sound of their breathing and Liam's snuffling snores from the other corner of the room and the general going on's of the neighborhood that had become little more than background noise as they grew older. Ian could almost believe Mickey had fallen asleep- if not for that telltale hitch in his breathing and that subdued whisper, so quiet he's almost sure he's not meant to hear.

"Yeah, I do."

Ian inhales sharply, his heart beating so hard in his chest that it hurts and he never wants it to end, then closes his eyes. Says nothing but presses a faint kiss to the nape of Mickey's neck that says enough. Just enough.

 


End file.
